the first lessons
by electrikitty
Summary: what was heine's life like after he met viktor? before the palace? what happened at maria vetsera? heine gets his teacher's license and takes the long-awaited post at maria vetsera, the shelter that viktor built for the kingdom's orphans, but it seems that there's something going on in this church… / complete
1. Prologue

_Don't make promises you can't keep._ I wish someone had told me that. In truth, I wish someone had told me a lot of things. But wishing is for people who have money with which to bribe the fates, and gold with which to pave the roads to their dreams.

 _If you can find a way to get a school built for these kids, Viktor… I'll teach the classes._

We sealed the promise with the clink of glass, and bittersweet sips of _Niedergranzreich_ white wine. Grass under our feet, stars overhead; the tangled, beautiful, ugly kingdom spread before us. The good, and the bad, the rich and the poor — a noble-born dreamer, and an illiterate gutter child.

Guess which one I was.

Despite our close ties, we were undeniably from two different worlds. Our staggering difference in rank constantly pushed us apart. It just made our friendship all the stronger. After all, he was the one who followed me down into the sewers, and discovered what was underneath the surface of the fairytale kingdom of Glanzreich. Orphans. They lived down there, and I was just one of many but somehow ended up being a parent for most of them. I remembered thinking he looked like he'd walked out of a book and managed to get lost along the way… not that I could read. He stumbled into the sewer, and my life: blonde hair, delicate limbs, spotless, shimmering white gloves. His name was Viktor.

Those gloves didn't stay white for long. He wanted to know more, wanted to help, wanted to help almost too much at times. Getting orphans off the streets. Finding food. Running errands for a few _kreuzer_ , every coin going to the children under my care. He didn't need the money. What an understatement.

He was driven; he wanted to change things, and make a difference. His foolish, starry-eyed dreaming rubbed off on me. Sometimes I laughed at what he said. He was almost too pure. He'd drown, held under by the weight of everything wrong with this place. But I wanted things to be different, too. I wanted to learn how to read. I wanted things to change.

Change they did. The events of the past earned me a criminal record, and earned Viktor some ugly scars. I was hit over the head with the truth — who Viktor truly was. And I had been truly blind.

I had to follow my own path after that. Viktor had new responsibilities, and I was going to make a new start, with more emotional baggage stowed away than I knew what to do with. We made our promise, sealed by starlight and the clink of glass.

Viktor would get a church built — a shelter — for orphans throughout the kingdom. I, who was illiterate and without a cent to my name, would educate myself; get a teaching license, and teach the orphans at the church.

I think we must have had too much that night. Because looking back, we must have been out of our minds.

Young and foolish. The last chance we had to be so, together.

I traded my knives for books. The years passed by, marked by letters from Viktor, measured in things learned. My vision started blurring; I had to get glasses. Things started changing in the kingdom, in increments outside my window. Time ticked by on a golden pocket watch, one that was not my own. I didn't attend university. I could have got in, if I had let Viktor and his connections help me get in. But I refused. What's the point in changing if you're going to put up a facade to hide the half-finished mess? I always did things my own way; I wasn't going to change now.

It was only once a letter arrived from Viktor — while I was waiting to receive my license — that I felt like I had some perception of time once again. A photograph fell into my hands. _It's been almost ten… years._

It was a family photograph, the black-and-white image painstakingly hand-painted with colour. The portrait was of Viktor and his wife seated with a cluster of children around them. A shock of black hair; silvery white hair; one already wearing glasses, and the smallest, with beautiful, golden hair. Yet one keeps drawing my gaze — tiny, doll-like, with expressive, blue eyes, lustrous yellow hair, and a wary expression kissed with a delicate blush. Names are inscribed on the other side. _Eins, Kai, Bruno, Licht._

I feel a twinge in my chest. 'Leonhard.'

 _I wonder if they're like their father._

I prop the photograph up on my desk. I'm already planning my reply in my head. _They're beautiful, Viktor. I'm truly happy for you._ Their happiness is so golden, it feels as though it should be set with diamonds. _Am I jealous?_ If I'm not, I feel like I should be. While recently people have been taking note of my work, the rest tell me that I should regret the years I poured into my studies, when I could have been… doing other things. They don't understand, about me, or what I'm trying to do.

Besides. I just can't see myself in a life like that. For many, many reasons.

I sift through the rest of the mail with one hand, and draw out paper and quill with the other. My fingers hit thick paper. I glance over.

I slice open the envelope. Take out the contents. Read them.

 _Professor Heine Wittgenstein._

I don't really take in any of the rest. I pause, allow myself a brief, flickering smile, before pulling my suitcase from beneath my bed.

 _Dear Viktor,_

 _You'll have to start sending your letters to the church._

 _I just got my teaching license._

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:** I came up with this when I realised that Heine's teaching career was effectively bookended by his meeting Viktor on one end, and coming to the palace on the other, with virtually no coverage of his time at Maria Vetsera church. Naturally, I couldn't pass the opportunity up! Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

A breeze caresses the leaves and branches. Thorns write the faintest of messages on my bare wrists. Everything I own is in my suitcase, strapped and bound and held in one hand. Except for my books. The carriage carrying those had no chance of making it though the forest, the tightly-woven tree tunnels shunning it, and I had to walk the rest of the way on foot. Apparently someone will carry my boxes to the church. It's beautiful here, but my enjoyment is tainted with the fact that my books might very well be dropped into the depths of the waterfall I'm currently walking past.

The trees and moss paint a delicate labyrinth, spattered with clearings and flowers, paths leading from one place to the next. As though it's used to seeing visitors, the path ahead opens out into a sheltered glade, with the church of Maria Vetsera set in the centre.

My residence for… well, who knows how long? I take in the sight. But if I really had to disappear… this is where I would want to do it.

The church stands strong and sturdy, built of wood and stone that still shine with relative newness. It's been about ten years since Viktor and I decided on our course, and between studying for my teaching license so I could take the post and Viktor having to acquire the support to get the church built, it would only have been finished in the last couple of years. And as far as I know, I'm the first teacher to come here. Most are happy with their expensive schools and wealthy students, in Wienner, and any others would probably have steered clear of the novelty of a classroom of orphans.

I intend to change that.

As though to offset my internal dialogue, the doors of the church swing open with a _ka-chak,_ and someone emerges. From what I've gathered, this must be Sister Mary: the nun in charge of the children here. She's dressed in a simple black habit, accented with a silver cross on a chain. If her hair was uncovered, I imagine it would be a gentle grey, to match her crinkled eyes and soft smile.

'Herr Wittgenstein, I believe?'

She walks forward, and I do too, to meet her half-way. 'Yes. A pleasure. I take it you are Sister Mary?'

'Indeed I am.' She nods at my bow, and smiles. 'I'm pleased you made it here without incident. We've been attempting find someone to teach the children, but then we were told that we were going to get a teacher. I couldn't believe my ears. I'm thrilled to bits.'

A smile teases the corner of my mouth. 'I'm pleased to be here also.'

Sister Mary takes my suitcase, startling me, and heads for the church. She's not a waif but she's still stronger than she looks. 'As it's late, the children are off playing so we won't see them for a while. You'll have a chance to settle in, then I'm afraid you'll likely be interrogated by one and sundry over dinner.'

I follow her through the doors. 'Please let me take — '

'Nonsense. You've dragged this thing all the way through the woods, it's the least I can do.'

The inside of the church is stunning. Richly coloured wooden beams support the stonework. The building is laid out as a traditional church, and yet it will serve well as a school room too. Sister Mary sets my suitcase down where we stand, in the narthex — the entrance. Stained glass images of saints watch over us, and a crucifix presides over the room. My eyes follow a staircase up to the ceiling. I had a hand in designing the church, yet it feels fresh and new to see it in real life.

'It's beautiful. So the children live at the church?' I ask, as though I wasn't the one who drew the floor plans. Did Viktor ever tell me off for not using a ruler…

Sister Mary folds her hands and nods up at the ceiling. 'Yes. It's not conventional, but the church was built to house the orphans as well as hold regular church services. Yet we can only take in so many.'

'Perhaps the crown will invest further in this idea and build an orphanage nearby, in the future.'

'Are you a teacher or a civil planner, Herr Wittgenstein?'

I cough, and glance away with a smile. 'Just a foolish dreamer, I guess.'

'Well, if it's foolish to want to come and teach these children, then I wish all teachers were fools.'

'Amen.' I flinch: the word left my lips in a far more cynical tone than I intended, but thankfully she doesn't notice.

She turns back to me, 'I imagine you're dead on your feet, Herr — or should I say — Professor Wittgenstein?'

The words yank me from admiring my surroundings and back to the present. _Professor…_ It's my right to be called that now, but the title still feels too new, like a pair of shoes I haven't worn in. 'Actually, I'm not expecting the children to manage my difficult surname.' I smooth back my hair, windblown from the walk. 'So you can all call me what you wish.'

She smiles. 'Well, I'll try to keep up formalities for a few hours, at best. Now.' Sister Mary takes me by the shoulders, and steers me into the nave, the main hall of the church. _What? '_ Even though you were recommended to this post, it's in the interest of the law and myself as the guardians of these children that I interview you for suitability all the same.'

She forcibly sits me down in a pew, and dusts off my shoulders. 'If you're all right with that, of course.'

It wouldn't matter less whether I was all right with it or not. As I myself am a textbook example of not judging others based on appearance, I still occasionally misjudge people. As such, I didn't expect sweet, docile Sister Mary to sit down a male teacher to formally interrogate him.

I think we'll get along splendidly.

I adjust my glasses. 'As you wish, Sister.'

Sister Mary sits in the pew in front, facing me, and takes up a sheaf of paper which seems to have been placed there prior for this specific purpose.

'Lovely. Now, I have here: "Professor Heine Wittgenstein. Qualified teacher with a license. Red hair, of…"'

There are a lot of things that she could say. Of unknown age? Dubious origin? But I can take a guess.

'…of short stature?'

Sister Mary clears her throat. I feel like doing the same.

I've always been… vertically challenged. I was always small for my age as a child — which I would take advantage of, flagrantly — but as I grew older, I stopped growing… taller. I wasn't a small child anymore, I was just small and it became all that people saw. Occasionally, my low voice tells my age, but not often. I imagine that if I had been inclined to attend university, I would have been mistaken for a lecturer's child. One of the many reasons I never went to university.

Sister Mary coughs. 'I didn't see why that would be such a defining characteristic, but… yes. Of short stature.' She has the courtesy to look embarrassed, which I appreciate.

'I hear that frequently. It can't be helped. Please proceed.'

Sister Mary straightens her glasses. 'Yes, quite. Of… indeterminate age, around thirty?' She frowns. 'As I'm in charge of the orphans, I know the difficulties the lack of a birth certificate can cause, but…?'

'I'm twenty-nine. I'm afraid I don't know my birthdate, for the exact reason you just stated.'

'Ah, wonderful. Much better. If we're going to have men of indeterminate age about here, I'd prefer to at least have the number of years nailed down.'

I certainly misjudged her. I don't know whether to laugh, or seize up.

She continues. 'Citizen of Glanzreich, born in Wienner?'

'Correct.' At least as far as I know.

'And that's all I have here, so now for a few questions of my own. Do you smoke, Herr Wittgenstein?'

'No.' I spent my money on books, not tobacco.

'Do you drink?'

'On occasion.'

'Well, that's to be expected. Are you a Christian man?'

I pause. Well, yes, I am. But I don't know if that's what she's really asking.

When I grew up on the streets, I thought religion was for people who were wealthy enough to pay for indulgences — for the forgiveness of sins. I thought religion was for people who had never had sins like mine to confess. It was like being trapped at the bottom of a well, wondering if there was even Someone up there to save me. I thought that I was so stained with sin that I could never do enough to undo the things I'd done.

But then I met Viktor. And he changed everything. He showed me affection, even genuine love, which I'd never felt before, nor understood. Never understood how anyone could love me, or want to save me. When he nearly died, and I prayed for the first time in my life. I said I'd do anything, begging for him to live… and he did.

After that, I started studying for my teacher's license, and I read the Bible cover to cover. Read it, and studied doctrine and theology. Yet I didn't go to church; this was something I had to do for myself. And I found the doctrine of salvation by grace — that I could never pay for my sins and the only way was through faith in Christ and Christ alone. And I gave in, and surrendered. I asked for grace. Accepted that Someone loved me and wanted to save me. And I'll never know which was the greater miracle, that Viktor lived or that God could forgive someone like me.

It still stuns me to think that I could have missed this path altogether so easily. It took a miracle, it Viktor showing me kindness, and showing me that it's possible for people to care, for Someone to care.

This all flashes through my head in quick succession. No, Sister Mary could be asking if I'm merely a Christian, but she could also be asking me what kind of Christian. And I don't really know myself. I merely trusted God and I never put a label on my faith, nor drifted towards a particular denomination or church. Fiercely independent, as always, as Viktor said when I told him about my new beliefs.

As Glanzreich is a multicultural kingdom, multiple religions and denominations coexist together. The royals support one denomination, yet endorse several others for the sake of religious peace. And for all the planning Viktor and I did, I never asked which denomination would be overseeing the church. So I'll find out sooner or later. For better or worse.

But what do I say?

 _That's the wrong kind of question to be asking yourself._ The question is, why are you putting a label on your faith now after all this time?

 _Dear God, please let this be enough._ 'Yes. Yes, I am.'

 _Good_. Christian, morally upright, suitable for working with children, and in no way prone to violence or going after people with a two-by-four plank of wood. That side of myself is well and truly locked away now. I hope.

I tack on another sentence. 'I confess that as I'm somewhat new to religion, however.' _Good, that way if you make a mistake or contradict someone, you can blame it on inexperience._ I nearly said _became saved_ , but if this church adheres to a different set of doctrine, then I'll be in direct contradiction of their beliefs from the outset and I don't need sparks flying on day one. I can't deny my beliefs, but I have to use discretion. _Bide your time, Heine_. After everything Viktor and I have done I can't ruin it all in a moment, especially for the children's sake. They need a teacher. I just have to be careful not to rock the boat.

At least not right away — I haven't changed completely.

Sister Mary shrugs, and makes the sign of the cross. 'No matter. The Lord is what matters; the rest is just trimmings.'

 _Well, that was anticlimactic. And surprising, coming from a nun._

'…I must warn you,' she continues, 'that we hold services on Sundays, and the local priest comes in to preach. He's been very skeptical of the idea of getting a teacher, and… he may give you a hard time.' _No surprise._ Seeing my skepticism, she quickly adds. 'He's a good man, of course. Very devout.'

I suspect she's dissembling through her teeth. I refrain from saying what I want to — _thou shalt not lie, Sister_ — and say, 'Of course. I look forward to making his acquaintance.'

She riffs the pages. 'I wrote this before I heard anything about the new teacher, so some of it will sound absurd applied to you, but… I can trust that you're not going to run off with any of the students?'

 _There are older students?_ I sigh. A _bsurd indeed._ 'Rest assured, I will not. Given my height…'

'Yes. But say what you will about that, I think they'll relate to you.' I look up. Sister Mary continues and says, 'You effectively said that you were orphaned, and given that you aren't going to tower over the younger students, they'll probably find you more approachable.'

I try not to grimace. Perhaps. If they're not too busy ridiculing me for my height, or mistaking me for yet another orphaned child that the cat dragged in. 'That's a kind spin on the situation.'

'Regarding your wages for this post…'

'I'm volunteering. I know I'm not getting paid. I didn't take this post for wages.'

'Please join us for a meal each day — we can at least give you that much.'

'If it won't inconvenience you, then yes. Thank you.'

Sister Mary flicks through the remaining pages. Something inside me starts to tighten, like a coiled spring. While all these pleasantries have been entertaining, I've been waiting for the storm to hit. I'm not a saint, by any means. My relationship with Viktor and the resulting fallout chequered my past, and sent all the chess pieces flying. And I may have to answer for it.

'Well, I'll stop dragging this out.' Sister Mary tosses the papers aside. 'The mere fact you were willing to put up with me rather than storming out says more than enough for your character. We'll be pleased to have you here.'

She stands, and walks past me. I blink. That's it? Nothing? I get to my feet. Coloured light dances below the stained glass. Perhaps I was overthinking it. This is a small church, for orphans. All of us have had to do some terrible things to survive. If I were to, I don't know, do something ridiculous such as taking on the position of Royal Tutor, I wouldn't even survive the background check.

I stand. Empty bookshelves line the walls, waiting to be filled. There's even a blackboard. A small smile flickers on my face.

 _If you can find a way to get a school built for these kids, Viktor… I'll teach the classes._

To be fair, I technically made two promises, and that was the second. The first was that I begged God to save Viktor, and I promised my life, in return. I was a fool, thinking I could make a deal. But he answered my prayer anyway for better or worse. Then to fulfil that promise, I promised Viktor I'd become a teacher.

'I'm here now,' I whisper.

This is going to be my life, maybe for forever. That might scare some people, to have their future set in stone. On the contrary, I feel at peace.

'What wilt thou have me do?'

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:** Because I'm such a responsible writer, I rewrote and edited this whole chapter on the same day that I posted it, and had a beta-reader check it five minutes before unleashing it on the internet. That's what happens when you put up bottom-drawer stories, people. After seeing follow alerts in my inbox over the last week, I was like, 'Wow! Followers! Which means that I have to edit the next chapter in time for the next upload... oh, dear...' Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

I turn, the light of the stained glass dancing over my shoulders. 'I take it I should unpack?' I ask, heading for the staircase, and my luggage.

'Yes, as you wish.' Sister Mary glances at a small clock that takes up residence above the narthex. 'It is getting late, so you'll probably run into some of the children soon.' She laughs. 'They always show up when there's food on offer.'

'Well, until then, adieu.' I grasp the suitcase in both hands, and squeeze up the narrow stairwell. At one point, I get caught, jammed between the case and the wall. The edges and angles cut into my hips, and I wince, before slipping free and making it to the top. Neatly packed away in the roof are several tiny rooms: two on each side of a narrow, short passage, and one at the end.

I open one door. A tattered teddy bear lies on the bed, against the pillow. I try the door on the other side. The bed is smooth, and made, and unlike the other room, has a desk. I guess this would be mine. I push my suitcase inside, squeeze in, and shut the door.

Dusky light spills through the small window set above the bed, and I light the candle sitting nearby. Behind me, the door; to one side of it, a desk and chair; to the other, a chest of drawers. My knees touch the bed that barely fits lengthways against the opposite wall. I reach up to touch the sloping ceiling. Good thing I don't take up much space.

By candlelight, the room takes on a dreamy, burnished glow. One or two stars awaken, and the sky is starting to wash from blue to purple, in watercolour strokes. I sit crosslegged and open my suitcase. This place feels strangely familiar, much like the cramped lodgings I called home during my studies. I like it.

I start taking things from my luggage, placing them in the chest of drawers, on my desk, and under my bed — once I realise there's a decent amount of storage capacity under there. I hang my one change of clothes on a hook on the back of the door, and reorganise the papers I piled on my desk. The photo of Viktor's children slips out. I'm tempted to put it somewhere where I can see it, but if someone saw that photograph… I take it, along with some other items, and place them in a desk drawer. I lock it with a padlock and chain that I brought with me. The weight of the metal fits too well in my hands. You can do a lot of damage with a chain and weight. I let the chain go. Old habits die hard, it seems.

I push the suitcase under the bed, and fall onto the mattress. I've been behind a desk for too long, I think. I trace the grain of a wooden beam above my eyes, pressing my finger into a stained knot. Tree branches silently dance in the wind, and an invisible quill spatters the pale sky with stars.

I know you don't need to be in a church to feel God's presence, but still. He feels strangely close. Maybe it's the stars and sky, close enough to touch. I close my eyes. _Thank you, for leading me here._

The rafters creak and rumble, and I sit up slightly. The winds are gaining strength outside. I take the heavy winter coat that I hung on the door — still creased from being packed — and pull it on, before descending the stairs. Sister Mary said that the children were out playing. I shouldn't, but I feel a tightening in my chest. Unwanted adrenaline pooling in my stomach. _Stop it._ When I had orphans under my care in Wienner, I was the only thing standing between them and many, many evils. But y _ou're not in Wienner now._ _And the Glanzreich isn't what it used to be. You're in a forest in the middle of nowhere. It's safe._

I open one side of the heavy double doors, and step out of the church. The wind already has a bite to it. I step off the porch. In the fading twilight, the woods have an eerie feel. I walk, not in any particular direction, to get a better grip on my surroundings. I draw my coat closer. My breath clouds, and my glasses fog up. I should learn to find my way around the area, but I'll save that for daylight hours. Warm candlelight spills past my silhouette, soaking the bleached snow. I step out of the shadow of the church.

I look around, then head around the back. _We'll need firewood in the colder weather,_ I muse. _I can use an axe well enough, despite my size_ —

The girl strides out of the woods and we both stop, surprised. _Is she one of the students?_

A tangled chestnut braid falls over her bust, and her skeptical expression is dotted with freckles. She has a leather satchel slung over her shoulder. A long skirt and a man's jacket hide a supple, curved figure. And she's… a head taller than me. At least.

Her lips pucker, to make a biting comment, I think. While I look like a child in height, my build — unobscured by my dishevelled clothes — says otherwise. I imagine she doesn't know which way to go.

'And you are?' she prods.

'I am Professor Wittgenstein. The new teacher.'

She phrases it with all the grace and destructive beauty of a battering ram, saying, 'They sent us a child?'

I wince, and choke down my resentment. 'I'm not a child — I'm a full-grown adult.'

She scoffs. 'Oh, excuse me.' She steps forward, and to my shock, takes my face in her hands. She pokes my cheeks with her thumbs. 'Yes, excuse me for not believing that the little darling is a qualified teacher.' She laughs, and drops her hands to my shoulders. 'Very funny. You are cute, I must admit. So what's the story? You're an orphan, I take it?' She looks past me, at the church. 'I thought all due arrivals had gotten here before today…'

'I _said_ : I'm not a child, my name is Heine Wittgenstein, and I am a qualified teacher and I — '

She blinks. In my irritation, my voice has dropped an octave or so. 'Oh. You're not kidding.'

'I am not, fräulein.'

'Wow. That's one baby face you've got, then.'

She pinches my cheek, and lets me go. I'm irritated, that I lost my composure to the extent that I… briefly considered biting her hand.

'Well, that's just lovely,' she says. 'What was your name again, Professor?'

'You're not taking me seriously. Please stop it.'

'You look like a child. I'm just wondering if I'm being had.' I give her a look, and she throws up her hands. 'Okay, okay, fine. You're short and you've got issues, I get it. You seem to be serious. Excuse me all the way over a cliff.' She extends a hand. 'You've educated me. Ah, what was your name again?'

I place my outstretched hand in hers. '…Professor Heine Wittgenstein.'

'No one's going to remember that for five minutes.' She tips her head to the side, and smiles. 'Rosanna. Charmed, I'm sure.'

Part of me wants to dislike her, but I'm also strangely drawn to her. I can't blame her for being wary. It's something I recognise in myself, after all. It happens when you're the only person looking out for you.

She flicks my hand away. 'So you just got here?'

'Yes, I was just unpacking…' I pause. 'I assumed the room with the desk was mine, is that right?'

She pulls her braid back from her shoulder. 'I should know, Dainsen and I were the ones who dragged the d_ thing up the staircase.'

I had enough problems getting myself and my suitcase up there. 'Oh. I apologize for the inconvenience.'

'Okay, okay, you can stop rolling out the twenty-cent words — you're a teacher, no doubt. I stand corrected.' She unties her hair, and re-braids it. Her fingers dance back and forth. 'So. Do tell, how did you wind up out here? No teaching positions left in Wienner?'

I shake my head. 'I wanted to come here.'

Her fingers stop braiding. 'What? I'm sorry, but really, what? You _wanted_ to come here? What on earth is wrong with you?'

'Who's to say there's something wrong with me?'

She pulls and knots a string at the tip of her braid, and narrows her eyes. '…Why would someone, a well-off, academic teacher, for goodness' sake, come out to the wilderness, and — '

' _Rozzaaaa_!' The voice echoes from the shadowed, blackened woods.

She sighs, and yells over her shoulder, 'I'm not deaf!' Her eyes flicker. She turns back to me. 'Well. I hope you're the kind of person who thrives on burning themselves out on lost causes.'

A little girl, maybe four or five, darts out from behind Rosanna. She looks at me curiously.

I drop to one knee, and hold out a hand with a smile. She grasps my fingertip in her mittened hand.

I look up at Rosanna. 'Who says you're a lost cause?'

She blinks. A faint blush splashes across her skin. She turns and heads for the church doors. 'Good grief. Let's see if you last more than a day.'

She strides around the corner and slams the doors, nearly rocking the church off its foundations.

I turn back to the little girl. She's still clutching my hand. Her eyes are almost too big for her face, and strands of pale gold hair brush her cheeks. 'A pleasure,' I say. 'I'm… Heine. The new teacher.'

'I'm… Ledy. For Isolde. The saint,' she whispers. By her sheepish expression, it seems I'm not the only one with an unpronounceable name.

'Pleased to meet you.'

She fidgets. 'I… can't read.'

I squeeze her hand. 'Then I can teach you. If you would like.'

Her eyes light up. 'Uh-huh.'

Footsteps, and two boys race past. One small, and waif-like, and one a touch taller, with close-cropped reddish hair. They spare me curious glances, but they're too busy bickering to stop and talk, it seems. I hear the red-haired one laugh as they head inside the church.

Ledy, loses interest in me and follows them. An assortment of two girls her age scamper into the clearing, chased by a girl who's about eleven or twelve, her silken hair snapping in the wind like a flag.

'For the last time, stop jumping in the river, for — '

The children run past me and the girl stops at my side. 'Who are you?'

'Heine, the new teacher.'

'That's nice. I'm Kat, ah, sorry — ' she dashes after the children, ' — _wipe your shoes off first!_ '

I swear a breeze lashed my hair as she passed. I feel as though I need something to hold onto so that these children don't knock me off my feet.

I turn to follow, and head back inside the church. But my ears prick at the sound of soft footsteps.

As though bookending the group, with Rosanna in front and him at the end, a young man slips out of the woods. As he approaches, the shadows fade, revealing a slender form, quiet tread, and ragged hair falling over one eye. A young wolf.

He stops, a short distance away. He's not wearing a coat: merely dressed in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat. His uncovered eye is a deep yellow-amber, like melting gold. A silence passes. I realise he's not going to move, or be the first to talk. 'Greetings.' I'd offer a hand to shake, if he were closer. I step forward, saying, 'My name is — '

He swiftly steps back. I stop. He doesn't seem afraid, so much as… curious. _Is that a habit of his?_ I lower my hand and gloss over it. '…is Heine Wittgenstein. I'm the new teacher.'

He looks interested. '…Welcome. I'm… Dainsen.' He cautiously approaches. 'Nice to meet you.'

He passes me, however, as though being too close to another person is uncomfortable. He smiles over his shoulder. His canines are a touch too sharp, and his smile is crooked. 'Well… come in… if you want.'

A window slams open above our heads and someone half-tumbles out. A chestnut braid drops between Dainsen and I.

Rosanna hangs half out the window, the window frame digging into her hips, one foot in the air. Her men's jacket is gone, leaving a blouse that tightly hugs her figure. She waves a hand in front of Dainsen's face and says, with a full-blown accent, 'Hey, dancer-boy, we need firewood. Would ye mind?'

He nods, perfectly straight-faced. He glances at me, and Rosanna turns. She slides right back into her clear-cut, musical voice. 'Ah. You're still out here.'

She gracefully flips back though the window and slams it shut.

Dainsen saunters past me, around to the back of the church.

I lean against the wall. I laugh a little, maybe in shock, I suppose. I didn't think about it that much, but for some reason I assumed that orphans under the care and shelter of a church would be prim and lifeless little dolls. But this feels like I've fallen in with the group of the orphans I used to know in Wienner. Yet it isn't the same; they're not the same children, and it's not the same place.

I head for the church, and press my hands to the wood. 'Well.' The hinges gleam. I open the doors.

 _Ne ad ludos incipere._ Let the games begin.

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:** One ensemble cast of orphans, with a side of parallels! Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 3

Upon stepping inside, I feel as though I've been abruptly yanked out of a dream, and into a loud, over-populated reality. Candles burn brightly along the walls of the nave. I step out of the way as Dainsen shoulders past, arms piled with wood, before closing the doors for him. I shrug off my coat and step upstairs to put it in my room. Isolde and one of the other little girls run past me from one of the rooms, pulling off their mittens as they go. Isolde darts down the steps. The other little girl stops beside me.

'You're a teacher?'

I feel as though I should make myself a sign that says something along the lines of, _Yes, I am in fact a teacher and no, I'm not a child._

I nod. 'Yes. That's right.'

Her chair is tightly curled, a coppery cherry oak colour, pulled back with string. 'You like books?'

'Very much.'

She clasps my hands with a solemn, earnest look. 'Good. I'm Ada. You can stay.'

She's simply too much. I smiles and lightly squeeze her hand. 'You like to read, then, I take it?'

'Mm!' And as abruptly as she came, she disappears, jumping down the stairwell.

As head for the stairs, I happen to notice a mirror through an open door. I hesitate a moment. Then Ipause outside and glance in the mirror, trying to bring order to my dishevelled hair and clothes. The door swings open and Kat crashes into me, cracking her forehead on mine.

'Ow!' she shrieks.

I stagger back, and put a hand to my skewed glasses. 'Ah, I-I'm… excuse me.' Her eyes are a vibrant blue, paired with dark hair.

She rubs her nose, brow creased. 'Let me guess. You — ' She breaks off, and levels her hand across our heads. I'm a couple of inches taller. At best. 'You're kind of short.'

A flush burns under my skin. 'And you're rather — ' It's my turn to break off mid-sentence. I can't insult my students — I'm meant to be a role model to them. _On that note, I better double-check I locked that padlock. Did I unload that gun before putting it in there?_ I give myself a mental shake. It doesn't matter whether the gun is loaded or not; it's the fact that I _have_ it that's the issue.

'Hey, what?' she asks, leaning forward with a grin. 'Tell me.'

I press my fingertips to my temple, and give her a look. 'I don't think —'

She pivots, with dainty footsteps. 'Let me guess — I'm rude. Sorry, sorry. But you are short. Are you some kind of genius kid professor, or…?'

'I'm an adult.' She looks me up and down, and holds my arms out to the side. I almost expect her to whip out a tape measure and start sticking me with pins. We look as though we've been frozen mid-dance. Strange partners, to be sure.

I raise my eyebrows. Her gaze snags on mine, and she chokes, before bursting out laughing. 'Sorry, I'm so sorry. I sew; it's a bad habit.' She coughs and snatches her hands away. 'A-Anyway— the mirror.'

I fix my glasses, and unsnarl the ends of my hair. 'I didn't realise someone was there. My apologies.'

She sighs, and waves a hand. 'Sorry, don't worry about it. Someone's always trying to use the thing. I'm the only one who has one, and Rosanna was smart enough to get a hand mirror.' She turns away and crosses her arms, weary exasperation personified. 'It can't be helped, but it's still annoying, you know!'

The way she tosses her head and throws back her shoulders is so fluidly exaggerated, that I get the impression that she doesn't really mind at all. 'Perhaps you should charge a tax then, as compensation. Even though it clearly doesn't bother you as much as you say.'

She flinches, then groans. 'Oh _great_ , you're one of those mind-reading ones. I was looking forward to passing notes in class, too… I'd read about it in a book somewhere. I'm not bragging, but my handwriting's great.'

'Well, we shall see. You better up your game, then… Kat, was it?'

'Kathervou — a-ah, I mean, Katherine! Katherine. Sorry. Just Kat is fine,' she wildly corrects.

I stare at her, and she avoids my gaze. 'Well, anyway, Kat, I'll give you fair warning. You should put your handwriting to work in your lessons. I would wish to avoid getting into a fight with any of you right away.'

'A fight… You mean — throw down behind the church?' she asks, bewildered.

I wince. 'That was not my meaning at all. I meant that I would have to speak to you in a correctional tone.' _Oh._ 'On second thought, please don't tell me fighting behind the church is a regular occurrence.'

Kat waves a hand. 'Sorry, no, of course not. I mean, the kids might scuffle sometimes, but nothing ever comes of it. We err on the side of caution. If someone transgresses, Rosanna comes after us like a fiend straight out of the abyss, and if we survive _that_ , Sister Mary sits us down for a "talk."'

It seems that if nothing else, she's picked up a Dantean sense of humour from her time here. 'Excellent,' I say.

We drift towards the stairs. Voices rise through the floorboards. She shakes her head, exasperated. 'You wouldn't say that if those two sat _you_ down.'

I adjust my glasses, and hang my coat on the back of my door. _There were… two, four — nine, children? And I've met five of them._ I head down the stairs. _I might even manage to get through them all tonight._ I realise that I'll have to watch myself on the staircase in the future, if I don't want some child landing on my head.

'Oh, don't worry, they have,' I answer. My fingers slide across the wall, and I pause to let Kat squeeze past. 'Careful. Or rather, Sister Mary sat me down. I haven't yet had the pleasure of — '

Rosanna rounds the corner and tosses a yell back into the nave, ' _Hey_ , where's the _teacher_?' before darting into the stairwell and crashing into both of us.

'Well — speak of the devil and he shall appear.'

Kat pushes past and out, protesting, 'Stop doing that, Rossa! Someone'll break something!'

I'm offended as well, but on a different front. 'A devil — that's a dreadful thing to say,' I huff.

Rosanna hooks her arm around my neck and pulls me out of the shadows, sending me tripping into the open. 'It's a proverb, don't take everything so…'

Her voice fades away. I get my balance, the carpet and stone filling my vision. Some instinct twinges. Telling me to get back in the shadows, out of the warmth. _I don't belong here._ The chilling voice burns in the pit of my stomach, twisting, before melting away. Pushed back to the edges by sheer force of will, of repression of my emotions, perfected by practice. I straighten, and lift my eyes from the floor.

…My vocabulary is failing me for once.

The doors have been bolted against the cold, and a fire burns, hidden, in the back of the church. The firelight plays on the stained glass, a rich rainbow of ruby and gold sugar confectionary. A fragrant, rich smell wafts in the air, and the children are scattered throughout the church's interior. They all look… happy. _Is that so surprising?_

'Sometime today, yeah?' Rosanna pushes me down the aisle, and my heels leave scuff marks on the carpet. 'You're the man of the hour, so to speak.'

'Until the novelty wears off.'

She laughs, a rough kind of sound, like a cough you try to stifle. Like brown sugar. 'Yeah, you got it.'

Her hands leave my shoulders, and she's already off again, ambushing Kat and dragging her along somewhere, despite a storm of vehement protests. I walk further down the aisle. It seems the north and south transepts — the wings to either side of the church at the back — have been walled off as seperate rooms. Fire glows in the open door of the south transept. _A kitchen?_ I glance inside. Dainsen leans against the wall in a corner, eyes fixed on the flames in the stove, and Sister Mary lets a heavy pot of goulash hit the dining table with a crash.

I stay out of their way — the space is far too small for a third person with all that activity. I grimace. Even if that person is pint-sized.

Between the north and south transepts resides the apse, the recess that houses the altar, separated from the nave by steps. The crucifix dominates completely. It's not exactly to my taste… perhaps the priest requested it. As my eyes adjust to the shadows, my heart sinks. The dull metalwork isn't just an unusually ornate and ugly crucifix, it depicts Christ's ripped and torn body nailed to the cross. … _Really? I mean, yes, but — really? In an orphanage?_

I sigh, and glance at the north transept. If the south is a kitchen, then what's in there? I step towards the door.

A slight rustle. The scuff of shoes on stone. The air splits; I pause, and raise a hand.

'A-Ah, look — '

The ball nearly rips my hand off my wrist. I stifle a wince. _Ugh_. My fingers throb, painfully.

'…out. Ah, uh, oops…'

'Now w've done it.'

I close my eyes and smile, before pivoting on my heel. It's the two boys that ran inside the church together earlier. They look stricken.

I shake my head and toss the ball back, flexing my fingers to give it some spin. 'Save it for outside, boys.' The younger blinks, as the ball falls into his hands.

The older boy snaps out of it, pulling an apology together as I walk up. 'I-I'm sorry, we weren't paying attention, and… you're sharp, sir.'

I keep my expression neutral. 'Thank you. I'm Heine, the new teacher.'

'T-Tio. I'm Tio.' He nudges the younger boy forward. 'And Gabby, my younger brother.' The boys have slightly darker skin than most, and dark hair and eyelashes. From their accent, I would guess they were from an Venezia, a nation that Glanzreich has territories in.

'A pleasure to meet you. I look forward to having you in my class.'

Tio and Gab — I'm going to assume his name is Gabriel — Tio and Gabriel both look slightly… abashed, perhaps? Even though I'm from a similar background, and share a lot in common with these students — I'm still their teacher and their superior. Something I haven't yet adjusted to myself.

Tio pockets the ball with a grimace. 'That was out fault, but, uh… You didn't even look to catch it?'

I blink. 'Oh, no. I didn't.'

I've built up the habit over time. With sharp ears, you can pick up on even the slightest of movements. A party trick with macabre origins, to be sure. I've lost count of how many times only a faint sound on the wind was all that warned me of a thrown rock, or a knife to the back. I was assaulted in an alleyway once. The only thing that got me out of that mess alive was that I'd heard the rasp of the man's leather garments, as he hefted a brick over my head.

I snap out of my flashback, and hope it didn't show my face.

It seems not. Tio's eyes sparkle. 'Eh, a really?' I was right, given his accent, Tio must be from Venezia.

I smile. 'It's just a trick. Still.' I step past him, and touch his shoulder. 'Stained glass costs a lot to replace. For your own sake, let's not let this happen again.'

Tio grins. ' _Si_. I mean, yes, Professor.'

Behind me, I hear snatches of argument between the two of them. '…Tio, Tio. Be good.'

'Well, I a wasn't the one who a threw the ball, Gabbie!' Tio exclaims, and collapses into a pew. 'You're one to talk. When I said you should learn how to throw, I didn't mean right this very minute…'

 _The tiny, little, shy one threw hard enough to nearly shatter a grown man's wrist?_ 'Well, I'm sure he'll be a pleasure to have in class,' I say under my breath.

I touch a finger to my lip, and glance around. I seem to have met all of them… have I? Something knocks my leg, and I look down to see a little girl, with blonde hair falling to hide her face. She totters forward again, bumping against my hip. After a moment, she blinks, steps around me, and drifts past.

'Wait.' I drop to one knee, and hold out a hand. 'I don't believe we've met.'

She looks around, and finally pivots, unsteadily. Her blank eyes flicker. Her gaze fails to stick, slipping past me, through me, like a wraith. A sudden, disorientating chill caresses my spine. I shake my head. _Stop it. Could she be blind, perhaps?_

I hold my hand out, palm up. Her gaze snaps to my fingers. Her irises are so pale, they look white. _No, not blind._ 'I'm Heine,' I say gently. 'I'm the new teacher.'

Her eyes follow my arm, tracing the veins in my wrist, snagging on the cotton fibres of my sleeve. She looks at my face. She tilts her head to the side. Doubt creeps into my stomach, gnawing with sharp teeth. _She could just be shy. Or quiet. She could have a disability, perhaps._ I'm caught off guard, something which doesn't happen often. My instincts request an audience, and I grant it. _This isn't right. She's old enough to be able to act cohesively. Something's not right._

I don't know how to deal with this, not right now, at any rate. I look up at her. Well. No matter who we are or where we're from, we all have one thing, a universal communications tool that crosses all borders.

I smile at her.

She stares at me. As lifeless as a porcelain doll.

Then she smiles, and it sends a bullet of fear into my chest. Because her smile — from the purse of the lips, to the slight hint of pearly teeth — is like looking into a mirror. She's merely copying my smile, with no emotion of her own.

'I'm… Blanca,' she says, with that dazed smile. And she totters off.

And I'm left sitting on my knees, chilled, as the heavy weight left in my chest dissolves into sadness.

I stand. _Can I help her? Is that even possible? Can I_ do _anything?_

'Hey. Teach. Prof.' Rosanna lightly raps on my head. 'Anyone home?'

I dodge from her reach, and straighten my hair. 'Excuse me. Do you require me for something?'

Rosanna chokes on a laugh, and I fume. She shakes her head. 'You're entertaining, at least. I guess you've got to earn your meal a day somehow.' She makes air quotations. '"Do I require you for something." No, but if you could get your pint-sized _derriere_ in the kitchen sometime this week, I'll love you forever.'

I click the heels of my boots together, and point my finger in her face. 'I don't know where to begin — but don't call me pint-sized. Or any part of me pint-sized. And young ladies should not make humour involving anatomical references.'

Rosanna smirks. 'Ah, so you acknowledge it as humour. Yeah, I crack myself up.'

We walk to the kitchen, trading verbal blows every step of the way.

'And don't make out of context remarks that can be read as suggesting a student-teacher relationship: that is just immoral on so many levels.'

'Well, don't take things out of context yourself. It's just an expression.'

'Young ladies shouldn't make inappropriate remarks, no matter the context.'

'Why are you so caught up on the idea that I'm some model young woman — I don't know how stomping around in the woods and hanging out of windows gave you _that_ idea.'

'Well, pardon _me_. But regardless, no matter how you choose to conduct yourself there are some basic standards of decorum — '

'Maybe you better educate me, for your own sanity — '

'I'd be _delighted — '_

The whole ensemble of orphans and Sister Mary stare at us from in the kitchen, our argument neatly framed by the doorway for the viewing of all those present.

The sparks zapping between Rosanna and I abruptly fizzle out.

Gabriel takes a bite of a bread roll. 'Rosa and the teacher sure are carrying on, aren't they?'

Me.

Rosanna.

 _Carrying on._

Thank goodness I don't blush easily.

Gabriel chews his mouthful. Swallows. 'What? We could hear 'em all the way out in the nave. Already getting lectured, Rossa. For shame.'

The misused phrasing clicks and everyone bursts out laughing, even Rosanna. I have to force my smile. Gabe gets a slap on the wrist, but likely for eating before praying rather than accidentally running his mouth.

Rosanna turns to me and talks under the racket. 'Kids. Gotta love em.' I sigh and wonder whether I should take her on in a second round, when she draws me closer, my sleeve between her fingers, her fingertip under my chin. 'By the way, I almost forgot to tell you.'

Her eyes lock on mine. 'We're family here. We care about each other. We're all happy to have you here, but you're an unknown quantity.'

I look at her over my glasses. 'What are you implying?'

'I'm not implying anything. I'm telling you straight to your face that if you don't can't deal with this properly, if you hurt one of the kids, even out of carelessness, then I will turn on you and make your life living hell — because these kids have had enough grief from adults to last them the rest of their lives.'

She smiles. 'And not the multi-storied, check-in check-out nonsense — I mean the good old-fashioned burn-for-eternity type hell.'

I blink. I for once in my life, am speechless.

She pats my shoulder. 'Nothing personal. I would have had a little chat with whoever got sent here. Actually, I quite like you.' She straightens. Tilts her head. Her eyes are so dark as to be black, in some lights. 'I guess someone's got to be the that girl, right?' Because if you already fit that mould, why shouldn't you fill it?

I see it. The regret hidden, so, so deep.

We're so alike.

'Trust me. I know.' I give her a sideways smile. 'Rage against the system, right?'

Her eyes glint. 'What an anarchist.'

'No. Just rational.'

'I knew I liked you.'

I take my seat, taking my place in this tableau. 'Don't.'

She sticks out her tongue, and gracefully drops down beside me. 'Fuss-pot.'

'That is immature.'

'I know it.'

Laughter, noise, and warmth, only slowing for one moment so Sister Mary can say grace, before firing up again. It feels like I've come home, to a house I know and don't know.

Yes. I know. She knows. We both know a lot of things, Rosanna and I. But as we exchange looks over our water glasses, my instincts tell me something, something they've been whispering for a while now.

 _Something's going on under the surface here. There's something going on in this church…_

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:** Right. For anyone who originally heard that TFL was a four-part story, it seems that there are actually _five_ chapters and not _four_! It also seems that I can't count. Anyway, more chapters is hardly a bad thing, right? Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 4

This feels strangely familiar, in some ways, I think, eyes flickering over the table and everyone seated there at. It was probably a stretch to fit everyone in here before I came, now it's rather cramped. _At least I don't take up much space…_

'Ah, _scuzi._ ' My head can't connect the Venetian word with the female voice, and I almost duck a second too late as Rosanna passes a filled plate over my head to Tio.

' _Ciao, bella_!' Tio says, with an easy grin. An unpleasant thought comes to mind. _Am I going to have to keep an eye on those two?_

Rosanna rolls her eyes and scoffs. ' _Si, si, qualunque cose. Tientelo per se.'_

'I didn't know you also spoke Venetian,' I note.

She looks at me, goulash dripping from her ladle and dripping into a bowl. 'I don't really. I just pick up some bits and pieces from Gabe and Tio.'

'I'd teach her some killer pick up lines if she'd let me,' Tio mourns.

Rosanna dumps the filled bowl in of me, and leans past. 'Pick up lines are for _men_ — for that matter, for boys who can't come up with something original, _idiota_.' She sits back and pulls back her braid with a glare. I start eating. I have the feeling that this will go for a while. 'Besides, with my figure,' she says, 'I don't _need_ pick up lines.'

Tio takes a sip from his glass, and his eyebrows rise and fall. 'Yeah. _Di sicuro_. _Tutte curve e top pesante._ '

'Ah, _excuse me_?' Rosanna raps him with the ladle's handle. You're just jealous because you're three years younger and haven't filled out at all, _ramoscello._ '

'What the — I'm not — _non mi interessa compilando come quello!'_

I've been trying to control my reactions, but I promptly choke behind my water glass. _Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't —_ I fake a coughing fit. Tio and Rosanna are too busy arguing over my head to notice.

Kat smirks at me. 'What, aren't you going to break up the lovers' quarrel, teach? That kind of thing's going to be your job now, you know.'

 _It is?_ But before I can get some kind of confirmation from Sister Mary, Rosanna and Tio both explode.

'You gotta be kidding me!'

' _Alcun modo in inferno!_ '

Rosanna sighs and leans her elbows on the table. 'Good grief. I just said that he was three years _younger_ , if anyone had cared to listen.' Gestures and a smirk punctuate her strongly accented words. 'I'mma gonna go have a sane conversation with a boy my _age_ now, so _ciao, bel ragazzo_.' And she starts talking to Dainsen, seated across from her at the table.

Tio blows her a kiss. 'Ah, you know you love me anyway!' Then he promptly drops the charade and tucks into his food.

I rest one elbow on the table, throwing etiquette aside. 'What, you like her then?'

Tio laughs, the kind of laugh you get when you try to talk to younger people. 'I'm Venetian, we a love everybody. Still.' He pauses, his fork making figure eights in the air. ' _Lei è caldo_. _Senza dubbio._ If only she were three years younger.'

I sit back in my chair. 'If you value your life, don't say you wish the girl were younger, say you wish you were older. And there are decent Venetian pick up lines out there, despite what you've led me to believe. _Come, vuoi ballade motto le Estelle di Roma, tesoro?_ '

Tio abruptly chokes on his mouthful, and I quietly hit him on the back. He clears his throat, 'Y-you speak Venetian?' His eyes widen. 'Wait. Y-You… you heard everything… we… said…' He groans.

'I studied many languages to become a teacher. How am I meant to teach a language if I don't know it, pray tell?'

' _Sei un demonio_.'

'I merely didn't want to insert myself into the conversation.' Tio laughs. 'Still. Are all of you so…'

'Saucy?'

'Vocally creative.'

Tio scoffs. 'No, no. Rosanna and I are usually having some kind of thing going on. We're not all a little terrors. Ah, okay, some of us a aren't quite so little.'

My shoulders rise. I'm just waiting for a joke about my height to drop. Then Tio's attention is caught by Kat, and he forgets me immediately. _One of those ones who just floats around in his own little bubble, I imagine._ I'm left to finish eating my meal in peace.

I glance down the other end of the table. The littler children, Isolde, Ada, Gabriel, and Blanca, are clustered together, clumsily wielding their spoons to the best of their ability, and nibbling at hot bread rolls like rabbits. I smile. They are cute, I must admit.

Rosanna's spoon scrapes her bowl as she rapidly shovels down her cooling food, before slamming her bowl back on the table. 'So, you got kids back home?'

It takes me a minute to realise she's talking to me. Kids. Children. Me. I flush. 'Of course I don't. I don't have time for… that.'

Rosanna shrugs, and rests her head on her hand with a bored expression.'What, you don't have time to pick up a cute girl and a couple of kids?'

I adjust my glasses. 'I'm not married, and I…' I stop. Some of these children's parents wouldn't have been married either. I know mine weren't. I give a bitter smile, and change tack. 'Anyway. No. I wouldn't leave my family for the sake of my work. So sorry to disappoint, but I'm a bachelor, for… various reasons.'

'Like what, that you're short?'

 _Short_ comes crashing down on me like a hammer. _Ugh_. I try to force a weary smile, but it turns into a grimace. 'Well, I suppose. But no. I've been studying for my teacher's license. I haven't had time for anything else.'

'So you're a shut in?'

'I was working!'

'I guess you've got a lot of books then,' she says. Is that dreaminess in her voice?

But then her eyes narrow. She sits back in her chair slightly. Her eyes darken. 'Wait. You're talking about this like it's recent. You… Don't tell me. This is your _first_ teaching position?'

'Well, yes?'

'Um, Professor?'

I take my eyes off the growing thunderstorm beside me, and turn to Kat. 'Yes?'

'So… what kind of classes will you be giving us?'

'We'll cover a wide range of subjects, whatever you can think of.'

'Really? Then — '

Rosanna taps my arm and yanks me to face her. 'Okay, _hold_ it. Let me get this straight. This is a test run for you? You came to our backwater little church so that way if you bombed out the only collateral damage would be a few inconsequential orphans?'

I stiffen. 'That is wrong on so many — '

Kat frowns. 'Gee, Rosa, don't interrupt —'

'We're having a _discussion_ , Kat.'

Kat straightens in her chair, like a rigid marionette. 'You can discuss the stuffing out of him whenever you want — he's effectively going to be here all day, every day, indefinitely.'

Rosa ignores her, and her gaze flicks back to me. 'Anyway — wow, Witt-gen-stein,' she says. 'Wow.'

I take a deep breath, and exhale. Then I fix her with a sharp look. 'You're jumping to conclusions. This isn't a test run — this is what I want to _do with my life_. Life doesn't _give_ you test runs.'

Rosanna narrows her eyes. 'Uh, sorry, but it's not about you?'

'I know it's not.' I force my pride back down my throat, and grit my teeth. 'I know that. Look… I'm aware that you don't know a lot about me, and this kind of situation is less than ideal. I merely want to help.'

'Yeah, so what?'

'So you can think whatever you want of me. I'm not perfect, and I'm not going to get everything right the first time, but all I want is to help you to the best of my ability. That's all.'

Rosanna rubs the bridge of her nose, perhaps stifling a headache. 'Okay, fine. If this is supposedly good, then tell me what would be bad.'

'Bad would be a teacher who couldn't care less about you, your backgrounds, your safety, and only took the job for a salary.'

Something clicks behind Rosanna's eyes. '…You're not getting paid.' For a second she almost looks hopeful. Then she retreats behind the cynicism again. 'Because you're already rich, I imagine.'

'I'm not.' I can see the _why?_ written on her face. 'This is what I wanted to do with my life. Is that so hard to…' Oh. It _is_ hard to believe. It's hard to believe that people do anything because they genuinely want to, anymore.

'Sorry.'

My eyebrows lift. An angry blush lights her face and she stares at the table, pretending as though the apology never touched her lips.

She sighs. 'I'm a cynic,' she says wearily, 'Someone's got to do it.' She forces out more words. 'Sorry. For some of it. I'm still not convinced on everything. I just… these kids need this, all right? We want this to work out. I want _you_ to work out. I just don't want it all to go to pieces, like everything else.'

I force the tension from my shoulders. 'I know. I don't want to botch this up either. I know what it's like.'

She looks at me. '…What do you mean?'

Exactly that I do know what it's like. Being orphaned: that was my childhood too. But… do I really have the right to say that anymore? Is that side of me even still there?

'…I …just want to help you.' I look at her. 'Well? Want to take me on a trial basis?'

She blinks, then smirks. 'So, what, do we cash you in for a refund if this doesn't pan out?'

I try, I really do, but I can't help chuckling. 'You're atrocious.'

She's still smiling, but her eyes dim a little. 'Yeah. I know.'

With a clatter, empty bowls start disappearing off the table and flying into the sink, as one by one the children squeeze out of the room and scatter throughout the church, until only Sister Mary and I are left.

'Can I help?' I ask, getting up from the table.

Sister Mary glances over her shoulder from the washpan, suds foaming beneath her fingers. 'Oh, no, Herr Wittgenstein. I'm sure you have lessons to plan and such like.'

 _Ah._ Yes I do, actually. 'I'll take my leave then. I've met all the children, so I'll go and get to work.'

'Oh, lovely.' She hesitates. 'None of them are causing you trouble, are they?'

Are they? Well… I can't believe I'm saying this, but, despite Rosanna's best efforts, they're not. They're just… looking out for themselves. And for each other. I can't fault them for that, not when I know what that's like myself.

'No. I'm looking forward to working with all of them.'

Sister Mary visibly sags, and splashes bubbles everywhere. 'Oh, that's wonderful. I know some of them can be… challenging. But I imagine it's easier since they can relate to you.'

I pause with a hand on the doorframe. 'Well, I didn't tell them.' Sister Mary looks up, perplexed. 'If it comes out, then that's fine. But I don't want them to feel like they're being forced into accepting me just because we're from similar backgrounds. I'd rather things just play out however they will, I suppose.'

Sister Mary nods. 'As you wish.' She laughs. 'Still, with all ten of us in one place, if you've got any secrets, they'll come to light eventually.'

I step out of the room.'Well, good evening, Sister.'

That's all I can think to say. Because any other response would have to be a lie. And I'd rather not transgress on my first night living in a church.

Because some secrets I just can't give up.

Despite the winter cold and harsh winds outside, the inside of the church is warm, glowing with candlelight, shadows dancing on the walls. I notice Dainsen and Gabriel playing with a roughly-carved chess set, and the little girls darting beneath the pews in movements that reek of habit, playing some sort of game. Rosanna and Kat are standing in front of the stairwell, Rosanna braiding Kat's hair within an inch of its life.

'But doesn't it have to be wet to go curly?'

'Not if it's me braiding it, it doesn't,' Rosanna says, hair pins in her teeth.

'Excuse me, girls,' I say, motioning to the stairs.

'Ah, goodnight — _ow_!' Kat winces, pulled up short by her braid. 'Gee, Rosa!'

'Well, I'm not done,' Rosa say, offering a quick wave and a smile in my direction, before turning back to knotting the ends of Kat's hair. 'Your hair is so silky that the string comes off every _single_ time. This is ridiculous.'

'I'm flattered. I think,' Kat says, and curls her lip.

I interrupt. 'That reminds me. What subjects do you like? We were talking but we were… interrupted.'

Rosa grimaces, and makes the sign of the cross. 'Pardon mine transgression, brethren.'

Kat whacks her in the ribs. 'Gross, Rosa. That's just plain disturbing. '

'Yeah, I know.' Rosa rolls her shoulders and grimaces. 'Believe me, it tasted weird.'

 _How these children survive Sunday services is beyond me._

'Okay, if you can keep your words in our face for a minute…' Kat says to Rosa, then turns back to me and waves her hands uncertainly. 'Well, I don't know what you call these… subjects, because I, uh, haven't been to school, sorry, but I like reading, and uh, my hand writing's good. I'm not good at math.'

'That's good, but what do you _like_ to do?'

Kat blinks. 'I… Like sewing? And I write stuff… sometimes… It's pretty bad though,' she says hastily.

'Well, in that case, I think you should try literature studies. You read selected books, answer questions about them, and and occasionally you get to write — '

'That's an actual subject are you _kidding me_?!' Kat shrieks, and throws her arms around me.

I stagger, and we nearly fall into the stairwell. Her booted feet flail above the ground. 'Well, it's still schoolwork — '

'Who cares?'

'And you still have to do math,' I say sternly.

'Yeah yeah — I can't wait tomorrow can't come fast enough woo- _hoo_!' she whoops, and rockets up the stairwell.

It takes me a moment to get my balance again. My lips twitch. I try to hold it back, but I can't — I lean against the stairwell wall and laugh until my chest hurts.

'I think you just made her day,' Rosa says, leaning against the opposite wall with crossed arms and a twitching smile.

'I'm glad. Still, I wasn't done. I think I've got some history books with engravings of fashion from different time periods, so if she likes to sew — '

Rosanna holds up a hand. 'Stop. Any more excitement and she'll blast a hole through the roof.'

I smile. 'Very well. Good night. It was a pleasure to meet all of you.'

She raises an eyebrow. 'A pleasure? Really?'

I head up the stairs. 'Of course. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself.'

I could have not glanced over my shoulder. But I did. And her stunned, disbelieving expression echoes through my head all the way up the stairs

I step into my room, close the door and lock it behind myself. My pens and paper are already on my desk, ready for work. I change, hanging my clothes behind the door and slipping on some night clothes, before sinking into my chair.

Rosanna. Dainsen. Kat. Tio. Isolde. Gabriel. Ada. Blanca.

Paper piles up over my desk in snowdrifts. It seems almost surreal, to actually be here, staining my fingers with ink until my hand aches, writing lessons instead of studying myself. I would have laughed if someone told me this is where I'd be ten years ago.

As I work, I hear footsteps on the stairs, doors opening and closing, snatches of conversation and laughter in the rooms next door. I allow myself a brief flicker of a smile.

The cold seeps up through the floorboards and through the walls. I shiver, and pull a blanket off the bed and around my shoulders. I shuffle the paper into eight piles. Finished. I look out the ice-frosted window. You can't see the stars in Wienner the way you can out here.

I reach to blow the candle out, when someone knocks at the door. I glance at my pocket watch. Eleven. It's fairly late.

I shed the blanket and get up to open the door.

Blanca's vacant eyes stare back at me. I flinch, then want to slap myself. _You're overreacting. It's dark, and it's quiet, but you knew that someone was there so get a hold of yourself._ She doesn't move. Could she be sleepwalking?

'Blanca.'

She blinks, and looks up at me, before tottering into the room. She looks around. She sees my desk, and climbs onto the chair. She looks as though she's dozing. I glance out into the closet-sized hallway. One of the doors is open a crack.

 _My desk. The padlock._ Adrenaline spikes in my chest and I step back into the room. Blanca is still sitting, and the padlock is locked and untouched.

I drop to one knee beside her. Her little fingers grasp the edge of the desk. Despite her lack of expression, she looks almost… happy, deep down. 'Blanca. School starts tomorrow, little one. It's time for bed.'

She looks at me. '…School?'

'That's right.' _How can I get her out of my room? Even touching her could upset her._ 'Reading and — '

'Stories?'

'Yes, but…'

She slides off the chair, and clings to my hand. 'A story. Please.'

I blink in confusion. 'A story? Now? But I…'

Her eyes. Somewhere deep down, there's a glimmer.

But I don't have any books. They're all due to be sent tomorrow and —

Wait. I reach under the bed, my fingers touching the floorboards.

I pull out a book. In my hurry to pack, I managed to miss a stray book, and I had already tied up all the boxes. A children's picture book. What a coincidence.

I pick up the blanket and the book, and blow out the candle. 'Well, it's cold, so let's…'

She's already burrowed beneath my covers, and sits, waiting expectantly. I manage a weak laugh. She's like a frost sprite, here one moment and gone the next.

I slip under the covers, and take her on my lap, drawing the blanket around us both. My breath makes clouds in the air. I brush off the book's cover, and my breath hitches. This book was a gift from Viktor. A gift from when I was learning to read, a beautifully illustrated collection of fairytales. I don't think I even realised the true monetary value of the book until years later, and by then the book was already well worn from use.

I open the pages. Viktor's signature marks the inside cover, the ink faded with age.

Blanca cautiously turns the page, and the moonlight falls on an illustration of a princess, painstakingly coloured with metallic paints. Blanca makes a soft noise. I read the elaborate calligraphy script aloud, murmuring the words in her ear.

'Once upon a time, in a kingdom across the Sapphire Sea…'

Blanca turns the pages one by one, tracing the illustrations with her fingers as I read the words.

My eyes are starting to close. I take my glasses off, and rub my eyes. I look over the final page. '…and the princess awoke, with a kiss from the prince.'

Blanca touches the illustration of the prince and princess, before I close the book, and push it onto the desk. I'm half asleep, and my vision is blurry.

Blanca slips out the bed. 'Goodnight,' I murmur. I can't see Blanca in great detail in the dark, and with my glasses off, but her face comes into focus as she steps forward.

Her eyes are still blank, but she seems to want something. My thoughts tangle. Goodnight, the book, the princess, a —

I draw her face close with my fingertips, and drop a gentle kiss on her forehead. 'Goodnight.'

She smiles. And I don't know, but it seems to have more life than a mere copy. Her fingers clasp mine for a moment, then she slips out of the room, closing my door in perfect silence.

I force myself up, lock the door, then collapse back into bed. It's cold. I curl up beneath the blankets, one hand closed around my shirt collar.

I wonder. As happy as I am, I can't help but wonder if I truly belong here.

I stare at the ceiling.

 _Is that side of me still there?_

Of course it is. Everything, shattered and held together in a broken vessel.

 _Of course it is._

And even though it hurts, I smile.

 _It is._

 _The End_

* * *

 **A/N:** The End! Fin! Dekimashita! Thanks so much for reading, virtual hugs and kisses and gratitude to everyone 3

Originally, The First Lessons was going to be a full-length novel, but as we do not live in a true and just universe, I was only able to write a couple of chapters before, y'know, life got in the way. But as I realised that the chapters stood fairly well on their own, I figured I'd throw it out there. Kind of like a stand-alone TV pilot! Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed, and if I ever have the opportunity to do so, I will sit down and write and continue and finish the rest of Heine and Rosanna's exploits at Maria Vetsera, and put it up here for you all.

Well, onto the next fic, so I'm out of here! _Tchüss!_ ~Electrikitty


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